The rooftop was six stories up, and the fire escape below groaned under the weight of the city's constant decay. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared. A dog barked. The usual symphony of a neighborhood that never slept.

But there was another sound, one that cut through the white noise of the storm. A muffled cry. A scuffle. The sharp crack of a door being kicked open on the floor below.

The building across the alley had its windows dark, but Y/n knew better. Three floors down, a light flickered—once, twice—then went out. That was the signal.